Southern Hostility
by sometimesiwritethings
Summary: Elliot has some trust issues, to put it lightly. In order to survive, she's going to have to put them aside or deal with the world on her own. Eventual Daryl/OC
1. Chapter 1

It was quiet.

That was a good thing. A great thing, really. She still crept around the room, wielding the knife in front of her. The setting sun shown through the boarded up windows, littering the room with dusty beams of light. She was thankful as she finished casing the first floor of the little house. A living room covered in a carpet of dust, a den, a tiny laundry room, and the kitchen were all clear of the dead and undead.

She eyed the stairs warily. She was always extra cautious when there were stairs involved; it was easy to get trapped upstairs. She had learned that the hard way.

She moved up them slowly. She was always light on her feet, but some creaky floorboards were hard to avoid. She waited near the top, her eyes adjusting to the dark hallway. There were two closed doors and two open ones. The one directly in front of her appeared to be a bathroom. It also appeared to be empty. She moved fast as she double-checked the bathroom, confirming its vacancy.

Her heart leapt in her throat as she heard the faint but distinct sound of a heavy foot shuffling a little. She was always paranoid, but she moved to the other open door with her knife held with white knuckles. Her hands itched for the gun that was shoved into her waistband, but she knew gunshots rarely led to anything good and bullets were hard to come across. She was almost to the door when she heard the noise again, this time it was followed by more clumsy footsteps. She braced herself into the wall, barely hidden from direct sight from the room. One of the undead shuffled forward, moaning, as it smelled her proximity. Before it could turn its head towards her the knife was thrust through its temple. The body crumpled to the floor in a sickening heap, and she waited, listening for any more sounds.

After a minute she walked into the room to see that it was a now empty bedroom. She then checked the other two rooms, finding another bedroom and a master bedroom. The house appeared to have belonged to a family of three before, judging by the dust-coated pictures on the wall. She tried not to think about the little girl that must have occupied the room filled with dolls and various shades of pink objects.

She looked out the window, checking for any movement outside of the isolated house. She then went back down the stairs and began going through the usual precautions she took. She heaved the dusty sofa in front of the front door, never trusting just a deadbolt.

She made her way to the back door in the kitchen and stood in front of it, looking around the room for anything that would hold it shut. She looked to the small table and chairs that occupied the room, and doubted their ability to hold a door shut for more than a second. She never had mastered the wedging of a chair against a door. She pulled her pack around and dug down to the bottom of it, bringing out her last resort for times like these. The cluster of little bells had been found a few weeks ago in a situation just like today's. She held the bells in her hand tightly to stifle the little noises and carefully hung them on the door handle. She was satisfied with the bells, they were enough to alert her, but not loud enough to attract outside company.

After she was relatively happy with the security of the temporary home, she began moving through the kitchen looking for anything she could consume to fill the empty void that had been in her stomach for more than a few weeks. She pulled anything out that was of value and placed it on the kitchen counter.

After every possible place was checked she moved on to the other rooms, looking for anything that could be of any use. She moved quickly, well aware of the vanishing light. Aside from a few blankets that she threw on the ground by the stairs, there was relatively little. No weapons that outdid her trusty knife and backup gun. No medicine to ease her aches and pains.

The onslaught of her fever began to take over once the important tasks were done. The pounding in her head started pulsing, shivers overtook her body regardless of the layers she wore. She carefully and quietly packed the small amount of the goods into her backpack, save for a few cans of beans she would make a meal out of.

Before the world went to shit she was never prone to sickness, but now she felt as though she would never be healthy again. What with all the running and malnutrition she knew it was inevitable.

The fever had been strong for more than a few days, the only reason she was still moving everyday was because she knew the dangers of holing out in a suburban house like this for more than one night. The undead would find her, or worse, the living. The people that came into these houses would not help her. They were looters, people who would only take and leave you for dead, or worse. She had learned that the hard way.

She ate her small meal in the darkness, covered in her new, dusty blankets. She kept her ears open for any small noise, ready to bolt if needed.

She wasn't some strong survivor, the only reason she was still alive was because of luck and her amazing ability to flee from danger. In the past few months she had ran more than she had in four years of cross country and track in her high school days. She couldn't even shoot anything with her gun unless it was within five feet.

Her luck was running out though. She needed to find a place to hole out for longer than a night, a place with a steady supply of food and shelter. A shower would be nice too, but that was a dream long given up on.

She slowly drifted off to sleep, ears still open, as always.

XXXX

She woke up in silence, the morning sun grazing over the room through the cracks of the wooden boards. She could tell it was midmorning, much later than she ever allowed herself to sleep. Every morning she was waking up later and later, something that was becoming progressively more dangerous. She stretched out the ever-present kinks in her body and rubbed her sore eyes awake.

She shoved her new blankets in her backpack. The need for warmth had become more and more pressing every night, and finding the blankets were a small treasure among the other useless things.

She pulled out the worn map, and examined all the crossed off areas. These were either mass graves or were ruled by the undead or groups of the living she didn't plan on meeting. She had been slowly edging her way around the city, moving south hoping for a warmer winter. Suburb by suburb she had silently made her way to the edge of her map, although it felt like she was at the edge of a cliff. From here it was just a guessing game.

After checking the house's surroundings, she eased her way out of the back door, shoving her bell security system into her bag. She crept out of the neighborhood, unseen by the few dead that meandered the area.

Now they seemed to stay in packs, so she was relatively safe unless she saw one of those. If she was spotted by a pack of the undead, she knew her chances almost diminished to nothing, especially in her condition.

She slowly made her way down the side of the highway, dipping into her water reserve every now and then.

The mental checklist started up. She needed to find a new map, water, long-term shelter, and medicine to name a few. The list may have changed every now and then, sometimes it was shorter, most times it was longer, but it was always there. She was always searching for something, and most times it was the difference between life and death.

Like always her ears and eyes were open, scanning the area around her, but she felt herself drift off into the old world. She saw the cars driving past her; maybe an airplane would fly overhead. The air wouldn't smell like death, the world would be a little greener. She almost smiled thinking about it. Her dad's beat up old Chevy pickup would drive her way to pick her up. She walked backwards looking at the truck. It seemed a little too real as it became more than a red dot in the distance.

The fantasy quickly faded away as the sound of a muted engine came closer. She quickly bolted into the trees to her left, never losing sight of the road but hopefully out of sight of the road.

She squatted behind a tree, as the sound got louder, peaking out towards the road. The truck was almost identical to her father's, maybe more of a burgundy and the bumper was a little beat up, but it brought back some all too real memories of that night.

She was lost in her thoughts when she heard more than one groan behind her. She quickly and efficiently pulled out her knife. A small group of the undead was descending on her; maybe five or six, she never counted anymore. She dove forward and plunged her knife into one's skull and pushed it into one of its companions.

She was already exhausted. She had fought this many before, but with the ability to move away quickly, and she hadn't been sick. With the car coming towards her she couldn't run and pick them off separately. She didn't want to use her gun, for fear of attracting more undead or the occupant of the truck. So she took her chances and fought them off where she was.

As her knife left the eye socket of one, another toppled forward to take its place. She backed away, tripping over the root of a tree. The body came down on her and she fought to keep it teeth from sinking into her. She shoved the knife through its head and heaved it off of her as the others moved forward for her.

Without thinking she did what she did best, she ran. She ran into the road, where the truck had to swerve to avoid hitting her. It screeched to a halt as the remaining undead made their way out of the trees towards her. She pulled out her last result, always aware of how many bullets she had. Four in the magazine and one in the chamber. Not enough if she wanted to make it out alive. She aimed at the first of the undead as it stumbled forward. She pulled the safety back and fired, hitting it in the chest. She aimed again, this time satisfied when the target fell. She heard the truck door slam shut but filed it away as she aimed her gun at an approaching undead. She shot and missed completely, backing away as it drew closer to her. She heard a gunshot unlike her own, and to her amazement the corpse fell to the ground.

She turned to the stranger and allowed herself a moment of awe at the charitable act before she turned back to her task. Another gunshot sounded and the last of them fell. The stranger and her both took a quick look around making sure no more monsters were approaching out of the trees.

When she realized her back was to the stranger she quickly turned and pointed her gun at him. He was tall and built like he could withstand anything. His face might have once been soft and boyish, but either this life or the last had made it harder.

"Hey, Hey" a southern accent rasped. He slowly put the rifle on the ground and raised his hands. "I'm not gonna hurt you."

"Prove it," after weeks of silence, her voice sounded like a stranger's. She was visibly shaking, the nausea getting stronger with her exertion. Her vision started blurring and her knees were getting weaker. The ground was fast approaching her before everything went black.


	2. Chapter 2

She jolted awake with a throbbing headache, sticking to the bed sheets with sweat.

'_Bed sheets?' _she thought, suddenly aware of her surroundings.

Moonlight shone through tattered curtains on a window, illuminating a small bedroom containing a dresser and the four-poster bed she was splayed across. Across from her was a door, and she fully intended to use it once she could see straight. Little black dots clouded her vision every time she tried to stand up, legs trembling. As usual, a plan immediately started developing in her head. She was to find her bag, maybe some weapons if she was lucky, and get out of there, hopefully unscathed.

Once she reached the door, she slowly turned the knob and eased it open.

She winced as the old door creaked on its hinges. She moved as quietly as she could down the narrow hall, peeking in the small rooms as she went.

Her plan immediately fell apart when she walked into the kitchen area. The same man from the highway was standing before her, empty hands held up. A moment of quiet distrust passed before the man began to speak.

"You're safe here," he began, gesturing to the surrounding room. "It's just me, I'm not gonna hurt you."

"What do you want?" she asked, slowly backing down the hallway. The man matched her step for step, hands still held up.

"Nothing!" He quietly assured her. "You wouldn't wake up, so I took you back here." She looked around, taking in the room that was lit by a small glowing lantern.

"Let me go," she said forcefully, holding the wall for support.

"I'm just tryin' to help, and from the looks of it, you need it," he explained as he slowly lowered his arms.

"Just please give me my pack," she whispered, to tired and weak to continue with the tough front.

"You're not in danger here," he started, coming closer, "leaving now is a death sentence," He gestured to the window, where the darkness consumed everything the moon couldn't lighten up. She swallowed the lump in her throat.

"I'll take my chances," murmured.

"Get some food in ya, something to bring that fever down," he pointed to the cluster of various pills, "A good nights rest. Looks like you could use it," he smirked.

She was about to begin her usual refusal, but she thought twice.

_'This was everything she had needed. A few days to get better, food, shelter. Maybe even a shower,' _she thought hopefully.

She took in the stranger in front of her. Tall and strong, typically a threat in her eyes, but for some reason her gut didn't clench up in fear.

"It's just you?" she asked aggressively.

He nodded his head.

"Why help me?" she questioned earnestly.

"I would want someone to do the same," he began, looking down. She looked away, knowing she would have probably left him for dead if the roles were reversed.

"Elliot," she said, holding her hand out.

A small winning smile played on his lips and he grabbed her hand. "Wade."

As their hands touched for the brief and businesslike moment, she could feel her control slip away as she took the reckless jump into trusting someone else.

XXXXX

Even though he told her to keep it short, she spent what felt like hours in the shower.

Wade gave her a quick tour of the cabin after she requested it, always wanting to know the layout of where she was staying. When he mentioned that the cabin had working water, Elliot had to hide the wide grin on her face.

She could see the dirt and grime running down to the drain, leaving her body fresh and clean. Even after the water ran clear she continued to wash. Showers were definitely something she took advantage of before everything happened.

When the water started to feel like ice, she quickly jumped out.

After the first few weeks, she gave up on looking in the mirror. It only every verified that she looked as bad as she felt. She walked to stand in front of the mirror, and wiped away the steam to see a new person staring back at her. What used to be a glowing full face was now pale and sickly. She had never seen her cheekbones so prominent. No wonder Wade was so insistent on getting her healthy; she looked like the living dead, which was a lethal thing to be mistaken for nowadays.

She walked to her little room and locked the door behind her, still more than wary of Wade. She stared at her pack that lay on the bed then went through the few articles of worn out clothes, which varied from dirty to filthy. She didn't want to soil her newly clean body, so she went through the dresser, looking for anything she could wear. The drawers were filled with large flannels, sweaters, t-shirts, and various things in between. It was every girl's dreams come true. She pulled out a thick red flannel and a pair of boxers, seeing that the only other bottoms were giant Levis.

A wave of fatigue washed over her and she laid across the bed, untrusting of her legs to hold her anymore. Her eyes began to grow heavy, and her body slipped into some much needed sleep.

XXXXX

It was bright, definitely later than she intended to wake up. She discovered the reason for her waking up when she heard noises in the house. She immediately panicked, thinking the worst. She snuck out of the room, gun in hand, to find Wade standing over the stove.

She cleared her throat so he knew she was there.

"Oh, g'mornin'," he happily began, turning back to the stove.

"What are you doing?" She whispered angrily.

"Makin' eggs," he explained tentatively.

"You're making too much noise!" she all but yelled at him.

"Noise ain't a problem up here," he said gesturing around him.

"Where are we?" she asked, still skeptical of the man and his nonchalance.

"The middle of nowhere. About an hours drive from Atlanta," Wade explained, turning back to his eggs. As Elliot sat down he continued to speak, "ya already look better, guess ya slept well."

"How'd you come across this place?" she asked, ignoring his response while she sat at the small table.

"Didn't come across it, grew up here with my grandfather," he said as he brought over two plates of eggs. "When all this happened, I thought it would be a good place to be," he explained as he joined her at the old table.

She slowly nodded her head. Elliot hesitated to pick up the fork as Wade dug into his breakfast. "Eggs?"

"Neighbors down the way had a coop. There was only one left and I figured she'd come in handy," he informed in between mouthfuls.

The rest of the breakfast consisted of her asking countless questions and Wade ensuring the safety of the little home he had created. After the small meal and the grilling done by Elliot, he gave her a small tour of the surrounding area outside the cabin. Aside from the clearing around the house and a dirt road leading out of it, it was surrounded by a thick forest, leaves changing color in the autumn air. It was beautiful, even in this terrifying world.

Almost surrounding half of the cabin was a chain link fence, in the process of being built, as Wade explained.

XXXX

As Elliot washed her filthy clothes with the washboard and bucket Wade had provided her, she started to entertain the idea of staying for a couple days longer. Here she could recover from the havoc that had been wrecked on her body in the past few months. She could sleep soundly, eat real food, and get rid of fever that still caused her pain and bouts of fatigue.

After she had hung her dripping clothes up on the makeshift clothesline, she made her way to Wade, who was working on putting up the fence.

As she watched him struggle with holding it up and burying the bottom into the ground, she stepped forward to hold the fence while he finished burying it and patting it hard.

"So, I was thinking, maybe you were right," she tentatively began, having a hard time admitting that she needed his help.

Wade looked up from twisting the links together with his pliers, "About what?"

"I'd like to stay here a few more days, if you'll have me," she sighed, embarrassed. She looked up at him, a question on her face.

"You're welcome here," he responded after a few seconds too long.

"Thank you," she replied awkwardly, shifting to hold the fence up straighter.

XXXXX

She put on a pair of freshly washed jeans, still ripped at the knees, but much less dirty than they used to be. She threw on her cleanest shirt and made her way outside to find Wade either admiring or critiquing his fence.

"It's a good idea," she said, standing beside him.

"I just wish I could have it done now, but its hard work alone," he explained, crossing his arms.

"I could help," she said as she turned to look at him. He contemplated this for a minute before responding.

"You could," he smiled the same small crooked smile she had already seen too much of.

XXXX

The next few days were spent of her sleeping way too late and taking whatever medicine Wade shoved her way during their meals. She read all the labels of course, still not fully trusting him.

She helped Wade put up the walls of chain link fence he brought back in his truck everyday after an early morning run he did everyday that she wasn't allowed to join. He argued that she was still to weak to come in case of an emergency. This of course made her even bitterer.

She also took to feeding the hen that rest in a makeshift pen in the room next to her. She took it upon herself to change her name from Wade's creative 'Chicken' to Henrietta.

She could feel herself gradually warming up to Wade. The way he smiled at everything and seemed to always be happy. She would catch a smile lingering on her face after he did his usual boisterous laugh, something childish and giddy that didn't match his tall build.

She still didn't let her guard drop, still locking her door every night and watching her back.

Elliot planned on leaving Wade the next morning, regardless of how generous he had been to her.

She found herself in the kitchen that night, looking for something to make for dinner. It was the least she could do after what he had done for her.

She looked in all the cupboards and pantries to find nothing but a few cans of food. She looked around the room helplessly as Wade walked in, confusion lining her face.

"I was going to make dinner," she explained, "but all of the sudden you have no food?"

Wade only laughed as he led her upstairs to the small loft, where he slept on a mattress on the floor. He stepped over the piles of his clothes on the floor to a narrow, nondescript cabinet. After a moment he Wade sighed and turned to her.

"Don't rob me, Elliot, please," he looked to her with a small smile, but a real question in his eyes.

"I won't," she whispered after a moment of holding his eyes.

He laughed as he bent down and opened the cabinet to reveal, nothing. There was no shelves or anything, just a blank space. She was shocked when Wade grabbed what seemed to be empty air and the back panel of the cabinet came out, revealing an endless dark square. He grabbed the flashlight that lay on top of the cabinet and shined it in, revealing a plethora of food, guns, water, gasoline, and various other necessities lining the squat walls.

"Ya could say my grandfather was a bit paranoid," he began, watching her face as she took in the goldmine.

"Why?" she whispered as she looked at the first few items that lined the wall.

"He had a lot of money and didn't trust banks. I have a lot of supplies and don't trust thieves," he explained.

"Looters," she whispered darkly.

Wade could see the story behind her words, but thought better than to ask. He left her to collect the food she wanted alone.

They ate at the table, the room lit by the same little lantern. Wade made his usual small talk and Elliot tried to appear normal as she twirled the spaghetti she haphazardly made on her fork. She was lost in thought about her early morning escape plan when Wade caught her off guard.

"I'm glad I took you in," he said in between mouthfuls, unashamed of something that would color her face red.

"Why is that?" she asked, feigning nonchalance.

"It's hard being alone in this world," he said quietly, his head down on his meal. Her breath caught in her throat as she tried not to let the guilt that racked her body show. "Yeah, I know," was all she could muster through the lump in her throat.

After a few awkward moments Wade spoke again. "So, I was thinking since you're such a poor shot," he smiled, making sure she understood he was joking, "maybe we should practice your shooting tomorrow morning."

She nodded her head, thinking about him waking up to find her gone, and alone again.

XXXX

She woke up that morning to the quiet beeping of the alarm on the watch Wade had given her. It was still dark, the sky almost black. She woke up and methodically packed her bag, filling it with her newly cleaned clothes and the few things of food and water she smuggled from Wade's cabinet. As she looked at the new pistol she took along with bullets for it and her other gun she felt guilt.

_'It's just one gun,'_ she thought, _'he's not gonna miss it." _

She stared at it, intending to get up and leave, preferring to be far away by the time he realized she was gone.

The sky grew from purple to dark blue to an orange sunrise. Her legs would not move from where they were planted on the ground.

She jolted from her stupor when she heard a soft knock at the door.

"Let's go soon, Elliot," Wade called cheerfully as she slowly put her bag on the floor beside the bed and hid the gun.

She found him in the kitchen, packing up a few different types of guns, car keys in hand.

"Ready?" he asked, a grin plastered on his face.

She nodded and followed him out the door, agreeing to more than a shooting lesson.


End file.
